Evan Jamieson dropped his head back against his chair with an exasperated sigh. "Gone," he whispered to a perplexed-looking sea gull strutting nearby.
Probably the best body he’d ever seen had just left, and he’d never even gotten a good look at her face. In a flurry of turquoise, she’d hightailed it off the beach like a whirling dervish, her hand firmly planted on top of that damn hat! Because of it and those sunglasses he could only imagine her face.
He’d been keeping an eye—correction, both eyes—on that one-piece orange suit. Lying there at his feet… well, ten yards away anyway, playing peekaboo with him. The scenario had a vaguely familiar feel to it. Had they played this game together somewhere in his fantasies? He squirmed in his chair as he pictured her reaching to adjust the hat. A fragment of memory teased at his consciousness. Where had he seen her before? Her suit, already cut to the hip bones, rode higher still, revealing creamy white flesh above her tan line. The orange suit, the light tan on her legs, and the cream-white line at her hip… He thought of a good old-fashioned Creamsicle, and his mouth began to water. He looked past the college kids already spreading out to take her place and toward the path leading to the pavilion and the parking lot.
Evan drummed his fingers against the arms of his chair. Here he was, thinking about Creamsicles, while she was getting away. He did need a vacation! He stood up, startling the sea gull into flight as he collapsed his beach chair and threw his shirt onto his shoulder. Sprinting toward the pavilion, he remembered the words of his FAA physician, the words that convinced him to use the beach house for the month of August.
"Rest, exercise, unwind a little. Have some fun, Ev. You’re in great shape. Let’s keep it that way." With the sand gritting beneath his feet, Evan Jamieson agreed with gusto. "Roger that, Doc." Now, if he could catch up with her…